Knight Errant (6 page)

Juliana heard drums. She looked in the direction of that doleful rhythm.

Three drummers preceded three cowled, black-robed priests through the narrow lane. Others followed but were too far back for Juliana to see.

She craned her neck.

Hands grabbed her waist and lifted her above the crowd.

“Nay!” she cried, scared beyond reason.

A few nearby heads turned. She saw several men shift as if to help her, while the hands pulled and turned her through the air to land against Sir Robert’s solid chest.

Relief stole her breath, and she inhaled deeply. “Thank—”

He covered her mouth with his own. “Pretend you like this, or the mob will tear us apart,” he growled against her lips.

She had no chance to answer and no need to pretend. As she already knew, she liked his kisses too much. The moment she opened her lips, he thrust his tongue within, locking her to him.

Roaring filled her ears, and her entire body went lax. He pulled her tighter against him. His arms kept her from falling. His taste filled her mouth. His scent washed through her. She twisted her fingers in the hair at his nape and kissed him back. Sweet, succulent, searing hot kisses.

Her heart beat a rapid counterpoint to the drums that sounded at her back. The drums! The priests. She was in the midst of a crowd, kissing Robert as a holy procession passed by. She broke the kiss, turned her head, and pushed against his chest.

She wanted to see what was happening. She needed to distance herself from terrifying pleasure.

She strained away from him but could not loosen his hold on her body. Faces leered at her, mouthing words she had no hope of understanding, but their crude meaning was clear in the lewd expressions and gestures of the speakers.

“We need to leave here, Juliana.” The drums nearly drowned Robert’s voice.

She looked up the street and stared into the vacant eyes of the most brutalized woman she had ever seen. Tattered rags provided scant covering for the pitiful creature who carried a large bundle of sticks on her back. Though how she managed to walk, Juliana did not know, for the woman’s feet were black with burns and bruises. Blood streaked her legs and arms. Swelling and cuts marred a once pretty face. Her jaw hung slack as if it had been broken. She slowed as she passed, and the priest who walked behind the wretch prodded her in the buttocks with a sharp metal rod.

Juliana sagged back against Robert, seeking shelter in the arms she had so recently fought to escape.

The procession passed, with the last of the priests intoning in Latin. This Juliana understood.

“Listen, and know that for the sins of heresy and pride, the Beguine known as
Sorella Seraphina della Matina
is condemned to burn in hell, as will all who defy God and his commandments. This by the order of Fra Giorgio Basti,
Il Mano de Dei
.” The voice droned on, but Juliana did not need to hear more. Sickened to the depths of her soul, she bent her head to her knight’s broad shoulder and wept.

• • •

Juliana heard the door slam shut behind Sir Robert, but she did not open her eyes until he set her carefully on a bench in the private sitting room of the inn. The image of the Beguine’s pain would live with her forever, sharing room in her mind with the terrifying passion of his kiss.

When his lips touched hers, she had wanted to grasp his forearms tighter and feel his heat rise to her palms, stroke his armor-hard muscles, and tickle her fingertips with the fine black hairs at his nape. Lust, pure and simple lust. ’Twas no denying the sin, and she prayed for the blessing of forgiveness every night since Sir Robert had ridden into her life. The sin of lust was enough, but for more reasons than she cared to count, she dared not yield to that attraction. Not least was the power it would give him over her. Though she doubted he would harm her physically, she still had good reason to fear Sir Robert Clarwyn. He was forbidden fruit, and she must resist tasting that fruit or all would be lost: the beguinage in Palermo, the secrets held there, her independence, and, worst of all, her heart.

She knew why he had kissed her. What she did not understand was how, in the face of all the crowd and cruel sorrow surrounding the two of them, she could have found such intense pleasure. The longing to repeat the kiss and perhaps seek greater sweetness in his arms increased her grief.

She had escaped Basti, but that poor woman had not. Perhaps if circumstances had been reversed, Seraphina would still live, would even now serve the Beguine community in ways far superior to Juliana’s small efforts. If she had been in Seraphina’s place, Juliana knew she would not want her sisters to weep and moan but to act. That was what she must do, for Seraphina’s sake and for the sake of all Beguines. She must continue with her mission to aid their fellowship in Palermo. She must rid herself of Sir Robert Clarwyn.

More tears clouded her vision as she acknowledged the rightness of her plans. How had it happened that in a few short weeks he had become essential to her? Else why weep at the necessity of cutting ties with him? ’Twas not to be borne.

She licked her lips and tasted salt. She had cried enough. With the back of her hand she swiped at the damp tracks on her face. Berthild approached, carrying a trencher. Across the room, Sir Robert stood talking with Henry.

“Are you well, dear?” Berthild offered the food.

Juliana eyed the savory meats and vegetables laid out on the bread suspiciously.

Berthild smiled. “Cook is drunk again. The innkeeper’s wife prepared this.”

Suddenly aware of her hunger, Juliana fell upon the food.

“You seem well enough,” murmured the older Beguine, and she stroked a hand down Juliana’s hair.

Juliana nodded, focused on eating, and ignored Sir Robert’s approaching footsteps.

“Aye, she is well enough physically, Berthild, for now.” Fierce displeasure rumbled in his voice.

Just to confirm the ire she heard, Juliana cast a swift glance at the storm in the knight’s green eyes. “Please leave us, Berthild.”

“I do not think I should.”

She knew the older woman worried about her, but Juliana felt safe with Sir Robert, safer than she had ever felt. She did not understand why she trusted him. She had seen anger and fury in his eyes. He disdained the beliefs that prompted her every action. He opposed her at every turn. He was no different from other men. So why trust him to keep her safe? Perhaps Berthild was right to worry. Still, she offered reassurance to her friend.

“I will be fine.”

The Beguine gathered the others and left the room.

Sir Robert loomed over her. “Do you recall what I said I would do if you ever placed yourself in danger again?”

Juliana sat up, setting the trencher aside. She folded her hands together and fixed her smile in place. “I have been shaken sufficiently for one day, sir.”

“Aye. ’Tis all that keeps me from rattling your bones now.” He paced away from her.

She waited.

“What in the world possessed you to leave the inn?”

“I only thought to help find us a ship.”

“With Basti lurking about?” he shouted.

“I did not know for certain that he was here, and I took Henry with me for safety’s sake.”

“And much good that did.”

“We did not expect to encounter a mob.”

“And I did not expect to have to search a mob to find you. Nor to have to . . . to . . .” He thrust his hands through his hair. “To do what I did.”

The kiss hung between them, like a blade that would cut any who dared approach it. If he wanted to ignore that thrilling touch of lips, so be it. She waited, watching him pace, certain he had more ire to spew.

“Henry tells me you found a ship and plan to leave on the morning tide.” His voice cut, hard and sharp.

“Aye.”

“Exactly how many people did you arrange for this ship to transport?”

So he was worried that she intended to go to Palermo and defy his order to take ship for England. Well, she did intend it. She had never told him otherwise. “Three Beguines, one cook, one groom, and four mules.”

“Come morning the ship will be short one passenger.”

“Nay. I must go to Palermo. Berthild and Gretle alone cannot surmount the problems there.”
Nor deal with the lurking secrets
.

“They are a great deal tougher than they appear.”

“Aye, but even fortitude cannot defeat age and infirmity, to say nothing of angry weavers, religious persecution, and the war between Anjou and Aragon. My friends need my help, at least until others from Ghent can arrive.”

“That is too bad. You travel with me.”

Her heart sank as she all but abandoned her plan to leave him in Genoa, praying that he would not agree to the proposal she contemplated. He had been steadfast in his refusal to delay the return to England beyond what was necessary to gain her cooperation. “Come with us.”

“I will interrupt my duty to Edward no more. Nor will I allow, you, Lady Juliana, to escape your promise to return to England with all possible speed.”

She stood and smiled her challenge into his sea-deep gaze. “You will have to force me, for I made no such promise.”

There! Now she would see how he dealt with the truth.

• • •

Eyes wide with anger, Robert stared at her. She should have been trembling with fear at the fury that blazed from every muscle and bone of his body. He was a knight, a man whose strength alone could frighten lesser men. Was she daft? Or did she suspect the cowardice that guilt bred in him? Could she somehow see the shame and doubt he hid from the rest of the world? He refused to confirm any suspicions she might have, deciding to keep her on the defensive.

“I distinctly recall your vow to be a most cooperative traveler, if I should guide the caravan to Palermo.”

“I have been cooperative.”

“I have my doubts.”

“Nonsense. Save for a few unintended delays, I have been all that is compliant, and I am still cooperating. I simply refuse to go back to England, since my path lies not in that direction.”

Robert ground his teeth. “That was not what you meant, and you know it.” He could feel his temper rise more.

“’Twas exactly what I meant,” she said.

That cursed smile never slipped.

She continued, “If you took some other meaning, ’tis not my fault. You should have asked for clarification.”

“Your meaning was perfectly clear to me and still is. Edward is right to put you under a man’s rule. Until I can get you to England, that man is me.” He crossed the room, halting mere steps from where she stood. The urge to show her just how firm that rule was battled with the fear that he would do violence and hurt her. Or worse, lose her and all she represented forever.

He smashed his fist against the chamber wall. The pain helped him regain his senses. Juliana Verault was never his to lose. “You will return to England!”

“Not before I complete my work in Palermo.”

It could not be this easy. Robert narrowed his eyelids, not wanting to give anything away. He had underestimated her before. He would not do so again.

“So you vow to return with me to England, once the Beguines’ troubles with the weavers in Palermo are resolved?”

“That, and after I have helped Berthild, Gretle, and the rest of the women coming from Ghent strengthen the safety and economic position of that beguinage. There, does that suit you?”

He set his jaw in concentration. “Nay, you will return with me.”

“I see no need to do so. You have made much of how eager you are to reach to England. Since I have vowed to go, you are assured of fulfilling your promise to Edward. You can safely leave for London and tell him to expect me anon.”

Robert placed a hand on each hip, stalked toward her, and studied her face. She bore his scrutiny and revealed nothing. She was up to something, but what? How could a man tell what she was thinking when she wielded her cheer like a great sword? A sword that would destroy every hope he had of regaining the Ravensmere lands and leave him with nothing, not even a shred of honor or peace.

• • •

Juliana held her breath. She’d given him the illusion of what he wanted. Would he take the bait and leave her be? Part of her hoped he would not—part of her was very foolish. He looked as if he wished to accuse her of lying again. But, foolish or not, she had spoken true. She would return to England when her work in Palermo was done. However, she planned for that work to continue for many years, if not her entire lifetime. He had to believe her so much so that he would leave without her. For the last thing she should want was to spend more time with Sir Robert Clarwyn.

“My promise to Edward included delivering you to him by All Hallow’s. If you must go to Palermo before we travel to England, then so be it. I will go with you.”

“But you must not.” Heaven forfend that he should question her for that outburst, for all of her reasons concerned her treacherous feelings. And to tell him of those would defeat the purpose.

“I think I must.” His gaze bored into her. “I have safe conducts from Edward, the pope, and the emir of Palestine that will ease the way.”

“You do?” How could she dispute that claim?

“Aye.”

“Why did you not mention this before? We could have used them to persuade a captain to take us aboard his ship.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he stepped back. Evidently, he was satisfied that she no longer disputed his decision to accompany her to Palermo. “Such documents are rare, thus they attract attention, which we do not want at the moment. We must use them discreetly. Ship captains can be persuaded by other means—for instance, gold, which I have in ample supply.”

“Your gold proved insufficient a few days ago, and if we had no need of your safe conducts before now, then we are not like to need them later,” she admonished gently.

His jaw tightened. “I thought we had this settled?”

Juliana hesitated. Those safe conducts made a powerful lure, especially if Basti and his minions offered trouble. However, her unaccountable attraction to Robert stood as a solid counter to the tug of safe conducts. Whatever the source of his allure, she must resist.